


Five.

by ToxicLaughter



Category: The Rain (TV 2018)
Genre: I just wrote this b/c I love Patrick, I only know the siblings' last names, Introspection, Patrick-centric, Self-Indulgent, Spoilers, and idek if i spelled that right, but he's my babe, feelsbadman, fight me, idk why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-05 23:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14629329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicLaughter/pseuds/ToxicLaughter
Summary: Patrick recounts his favorite moments with each member of the group.(Occurs before and during the first season)





	Five.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. If you're reading this then I am dead of EMOTIONS about this show and my ghost has written and posted this story about my shining Patrick Star who is super fucking underrated, looking at you tumblr. Martin and Simone love each other, I KNOW, but y'all gotta give me more gif's of Patrick and Lea hugging and crying over the loss of Jean, give me more of Patrick looking over at Martin for approval, give me more of Patrick rushing into a bunker b/c Martin just told him, no, we're not friends, and he can't stand the thought of the only person he trusts telling him to fuck off. UGH.
> 
> I'm just really emotional about my boy Patrick if you couldn't tell.

A hearse. How fucking appropriate was it that his father bought him a hearse? The only way he could’ve made it clearer is if he screamed it in his son’s face. _Your life is so worthless, you might as well be dead._ He couldn’t have agreed more. All he was at that moment, was a corpse driving a car. With a blunt in his back left pocket.

What would his father say to him now? Years later as he sits in the backseat of a hummer driven by a girl with a homicidal father. Would he tell him he’d done well, survived when so many others hadn’t? Would he spit on his shoes for all the lives he had taken? The lives he almost took? He could imagine bits of the conversation. _Those folks are too good for you. You should feel blessed that they’ve put up with you this long. Expect to be kicked to the curb any moment. Leaving is the only thing you’re good at._

A few seats over Martin groaned, his arm still bleeding. If they didn’t stop soon and do something about it, he could get worse. “Sit tight big guy,” Jean said, carefully patting Martin on the shoulder. “We’ll get you patched up soon enough.”

Martin chuckled, hissing out in pain as his arm shook with his chest. “I hope so.”

Patrick had to keep himself from scoffing. Martin was too kind, too stupid, and it would get him killed one day. And everyone (RE: just Patrick) along with him. He loathed the day the next one in their group died. Beatrice had been bad enough (even worse when he had to hear it from Lea, knowing that he hadn’t been there for the burial), he couldn’t imagine what the others would be like. And nor would he ever. Patrick would make sure that they all lived longer than him, so he didn’t have to mourn their losses. Even if he died tomorrow.

Wasn’t like he wanted them to mourn him. He was just Patrick. Asshole. Murderer. Rude mother fucker.

He was just…Patrick.

And they were…his everything.

**JEAN**

With nothing but hair, red like autumn leaves, and glasses, tight to his face, Jean was more than just dead weight. He was a screaming banshee drawing every hungry scoundrel in their direction. Goofy feet that stumbled over every other rock, shaking hands that scrapped across trees. He would get them killed. So, why the _fuck_ did Martin think it was a good idea for him to tag along. The girls weren’t any better, but for the time being Jean was in his line of sight, and thus the main victim of his anger.

He wasn’t sure where Martin and that Beatrice girl ran off to, both leaving the shed in a hurry after they realized they’d be stuck there for at least another day. And he couldn’t see Brace Face either. He rubbed his nose, she probably slinked off to some corner to pray the rain away. “You’ve known Martin long?” Jean asked, fingers dancing around each other. He was nervous. Patrick didn’t blame him. Being nervous was just something people were after the rain, especially around him.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” A long pause. “I’m glad you two haven’t killed us yet.” Patrick laughed, shaking his head. “I mean it.”

“I know.”

“You wanted to kill us. Or leave us behind, or whatever. Same thing.”

“Seems like you were doing fine on your own.”

Jean shakes his head. “We had our problems. Not having any weapons kinda leaves you in a constant state of fear.” He explained how they always had to run, beat the ground with their boots no matter if the foe was man or water. They had little to no protection against the hostile world, but they could never stay put for long. Food was scarce, as it was everywhere, and they’d have to bolt from one location to the next. 

Patrick just listened. Before he met Martin, the soldier who would always go gun barrel first, he’d had his hearse. The death van that would keep him shielded from the ran and would help him outrun savages. Jean had himself and the girls. Fear must’ve been so often and constant that it was just second nature. Sometimes you were afraid, and you’d have to deal with it. “Sucks ass.” He said, once Jean was finished talking.

“Yeah,” Jean said, reaching into his pocket. “Before them, I met this family, they were good people. Strangers got to them.” Patrick nods. He’s seen plenty of innocents hunted and gunned down by The Strangers. They were bad people. Probably always had been, even before the rain. “But,” Jean stood, walking from one side of the shed to the other. “Now I have Beatrice and Lea. And your friend Martin.” He sat down on the ground next to Patrick, placing his hand on his shoulder. “And you. One big happy family.”

He couldn’t help the chuckle and to hide his smile he swayed over to shoulder-check the red head. “You’re fuckin cheesy.”

**BEATRICE**

They thought they were being secret. Thought that they could quietly moan at midnight and no one else would hear. The other two never did, but not him. He heard it every. Single. Time. Had Martin forgotten that Patrick was a light sleeper? Had he forgotten that Patrick once woke at the literal drop of his own ballcap?

The idea of the two sleeping together didn’t bother him, nor did it surprise him, he just wished he could get a little sleep. 

Turning over once more he pressed his hands to his ears, looking away from the dimly lit corner of the house where Martin and Beatrice lay and towards the sleeping face of Lea. Her mouth was open, braces glinting in the darkness. Groaning he turned over again, looking up at the ceiling. 

“More, more,” Beatrice whispered, her voice reverberating along the empty walls. Patrick draped his arm over his eyes, resisting the urge to tell them to shut the hell up. The raging asshole in him was strong, but the self-preserving asshole was stronger. No doubt if he did tell them to knock it off Martin would give him a good old smack upside the head. And probably a bullet somewhere in that area as well.

 

The voice and the hands shaking him were the only evidence that he had ever fallen asleep. His arm flung out and he grabbed the calf of the assaulter. A boot slammed him in the chest. “Wake up Patrick, Martin wants us to go find some wood for the fireplace.” Beatrice squatted down and flicked him on the nose. He moved to smack her. She was quick enough to lean out of the way. “Don’t you ever take that stupid hat off?”

He sat up, adjusting his ‘stupid hat’ and getting to his feet. Lea and Jean were still sleeping beside him, both having gravitated closer to each other overnight. A quick glance afforded him the sight of Martin sitting where he and Bea had slept together the night before, chin in his hands. He was thinking. About what, Patrick wondered.

“Come on, quickly,” Bea said, reaching behind her to grab at his hand. He flinched backwards, withdrawing so she couldn’t try it again. They closed the door to the decaying house behind them, ensuring the rest of their group would be safe.

The street of the dead neighborhood was flush with green, weeds and flowers having grown wildly since humans stopped caring about them. His foot crushed a purple bud, unbeknownst to him.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?”

He shrugged. “I like you well enough.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “Can I tell you a secret?” Her gaze over her shoulder at him caused Patrick to clench his fists. He didn’t like that look on her, one of longing. It made his stomach churn. He nodded. “See that house?” Her head jerked over to a once blue cottage. “I grew up there. Was born there. My mother had me in that house.”

He looked at it. “You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m not.”

“What are odds,” he mumbled, walking with Beatrice towards it. “Should we…go inside?”

She shakes her head. “I’d rather not. My parents were getting a divorce. I was mad. Left for the movies one day.” She wiggled her toes, staring downwards. “They died there. Thinking I hated them.”

Patrick kicked a few rocks around. “This your way of getting me to like you?”

She shrugged. “It working?”

Patrick snorted. Beatrice was clever. Maybe more clever than he knew. 

**RASMUS**

Six years. Yeah right. Bullshit. No one could spend six years underground and not blow their fucking brains out. Human beings don’t work like that. He’d spent six years in wandering around the same hundred square kilometers and _he_ wanted to swallow a bullet.

Patrick stuck his hand out, grabbing Rasmus by the collar and tugging him backwards. He glanced downward at the pothole in the road, full of water. “Watch your step.” He murmured, side stepping the pothole and continuing on. Martin and Simone decided to lead the group, occasionally turning to smile at each other. Patrick scrunched up his nose at the sight. Martin had a bad habit of thinking with his dick, something Patrick had hoped to break him of, but with the new addition of the siblings it was clear he had failed. 

“Thanks,” Rasmus said, speeding up to walk along side the older man. “Does it ever get tiring, being on edge all the time?”

“I’m not on edge.” He seethed.

The boy just nodded. “Well whatever you’re _on_ , it’s good.” He pats the man on the shoulder, causing Patrick to glare over at him. “Thanks.”

“You already said that.” 

Rasmus just shrugged. “I guess, I figured I’d just remind you.” He stood, stretching as he glanced around for his sister. “Out of all the groups of survivors, I’m glad it was yours that came across our bunker.”

**LEA**

Lea bounced on her heels, hand covering her mouth as she whimpered out in pain. Her braces had been knocked around after she stumbled down a small hill, slamming her jaw into the dirt. She wasn’t sure what she did to the metal brackets glued to her teeth, but whatever it was it _hurt_. Jean was rubbing her back as they walked, trying to comfort her as much as possible.

Martin held out his hand, stopping the group. “Hear that?”

Patrick grabbed Martin’s backpack, pulling out the survival blanket that would hide them from the drones. The other three instantly huddled towards them, waiting for Martin’s orders. “It’s a drone, right?”

Behind him he heard Lea gasp, then let out a soft cry. Everyone watched the masked faces of The Strangers jerk towards them. “Shit, down!” Martin hissed, grabbing the blanket from Patrick and throwing it over the group. They huddled down against the ground, hoping that they weren’t close enough to see the reflective silver surface. Lea let out another moan of pain. 

At his side, Jean’s hands shook, the urge to quiet her strong, but the fear of doing such an act keeping him stock still. Bea shook him, hissing that he needed to quiet her before it was too late, Martin saying the same over his shoulder.

Grabbing Lea around the shoulders, Patrick pulled her into his chest, placing his hand over her mouth and telling her to be quiet. Her breathing slowed and besides the dull sound of their breathing, the people under the blanket were silent. 

The drone passed by without an intervention from its pilots.

 

“Come here,” 

Swallowing the last piece of canned fruit, Lea looked up at Patrick. He dangled wire cutters in front of her. “What’re those for?”

“Come here and find out.” He said. She walked over, standing before him, and waited. “Open wide!” He said with a smile, bringing the wire cutters up towards her mouth and playfully snapping them closed. She recoiled a bit. “Don’t be so dramatic! Which part’s hurting your so much?”

“Um, the top left. All the way at the back.”

He nodded. “Well, I’m not a dentist,”

“Orthodontist.”

“What?”

“The doctor that does braces. They’re an orthodontist, not a dentist.”

“Oh. I’m not that either, but I think I can snap a wire or two in half.” He waited for her to fully open her jaw before sticking the cold metal tool along side her cheek. Carefully he squeezed the handles. She winced, mostly out of fear, not pain, when the sound of the wire snapping in the back of her mouth echoed through her teeth. Patrick pulled the cutters back, giving Lea a once over. “Better?”

She nods. “Yes, thank you Patrick.” His face tinted pink. She lightly pushed him on the shoulder. “Knew you were good for something.”

“Shut it.” 

They walked back to the camp, Patrick stowing the wire cutters away in his pack. Just in case.

**SIMONE**

The only person that couldn’t see how easily manipulated Martin was, was Martin. Simone had come out of that bunker, batting her eyelashes with the promise of food, and from that moment forward Martin was on her leash. There were a few times where Patrick maybe thought he got his Martin back. Not the original Martin, but the one before the bunker. When they were sitting in the bus he thought that maybe he could convince the other man to turn around, go the opposite direction and forget about the whole ‘find the bunker kids’ dad’ thing.

But that didn’t happen. And now he was forced to stare at them twenty-four hours a day. And as much as he hated doing that, he wasn’t just going to let them die.

Martin’s inability to see the monster in everyone is what allowed him to stay up on the ground while Patrick ripped the gun from his hands, stomping down the bunker stairs, and into the lab.

Simone was tied to the door, begging and crying for the doctor to not hurt her brother. Her voice was soft, explaining how the two of them had nothing to do with the virus, with their father. Patrick’s ears picked up on that little detail, don’t you worry, one that he would find use for later, but not right now. 

The doctor’s hand slackened a little, her eyes wide as she listened to Simone speak. 

Patrick took the shot, ripping the bullet through the doctor’s throat and killing her immediately. He lowered the gun. Simone screamed. “That’s the way we do it from now own. No more talk. Let’s go.” He cut the bindings on Simone’s wrists, moving to Rasmus and loosening his restraints. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” One of them said. He couldn’t tell, his ears were still ringing.

“Trying to help you okay? Get up.” He practically pushed them both up the stairs, cursing at Simone for taking so long.

They came out the bunker greeted by everyone but Jean, the girls asking if they were okay. Martin looking to him for answers. 

“The doctor stays here.” He said pointedly. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

She sat with him later, fidgeting with a piece of grass. He stared at her fingers. “The doctor didn’t have to die. I was talking her down.”

Scoffing, he moved to stand. She grabbed his arm and tugged him back down to sit. 

“She didn’t have to die.”

“I told you, less talking, more doing.”

“You’re not in charge Patrick.”

“And you are?”

She shook her head. “No one is in charge.” She grabbed his wrist. He stared at her fingers again, thin, and pale from six years away from the sun. A stark contrast to his burnt skin and scaring palms. “We work together. As a team.”

He didn’t have to like her, he figured, but he could trust her.

For a little bit anyways.

**MARTIN**

“Fuck!” Martin picked up an empty carton of cigarettes and threw it across the gas station. They had been running low on supplies for a while and it was starting to weigh on both of them. “Everywhere we go, empty!” He kicked the counter, cursing at the spark of pain in his toes. “Hey asshole, any ideas?”

Patrick shrugged. 

“You’re a big help.”

“You’re in bad mood.”

“Because I’m hungry.”

The other man nodded. “Yes, you are…what’s the word… _hangry_?”

Martin groaned. “I hate you!”

They both chuckled, allowing the moment of peace to wash over them. It was fleeting. Running off into the distance at the sound of scuffed metal not far off. Patrick took a step back towards Martin as the man raised his gun. 

Four men, not Strangers Patrick thought, rounded the corner from the backside of the convenience store, each holding a gun. Martin’s aim bounced between all four of them. They were out-gunned. Things would go sour for them if they stayed too long. 

Quickly Martin came to the front of the counter. He and Patrick took hesitant steps towards the doors. No words were exchanged. Only looks as the four men pointed their guns at the pair. Martin nudged Patrick, pushing him away from the guns. When their path was clear, they ran.

Shots fired out behind them, breaking what was left of glass and lodging in metal at their back. Martin ran as fast as he could, only sparing a few looks behind him to see if Patrick was still there. 

They made it into the forest, leaping over fallen trees and rocks as they got as far away from the town as possible. 

He rested his shoulder against a tree, sucking in a few deep breaths. Patrick staggered up next to him, a hand covered his upper arm. “Let me see.” Patrick let the man remove his fingers, revealing the shallow cut along his skin.

“Just grazed me.”’

“You’ll be fine.” He sighed. “Just wrap it up.” He sat down on the dirt. Shaking his head, Martin let out a laugh. “I don’t know if it’s you that attracts trouble or me, but we sure are a pair, aren’t we?”

Patrick snorted through the bandage in his mouth, using his teeth to hold it still while he tied it tight. “Still think it was a good thing you met me?”

“I think it’s the best thing that’s happened to me since the rain fell.”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I'm just mad my favorite character isn't everyone's favorite character.
> 
> But I'll get over it.
> 
> Spoiler Alert: I probably won't and I'll flood this tag with 1000000000 Patrick-centric fics


End file.
